


let us fall, let us fight

by borninsideatornado



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Disabled Character, Complete, Domesticity, Everything Hurts, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hank Being Awesome, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marriage, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Nightmares, Non powered au, Permanent Injury, Protective Erik, car crash, charles enjoys profanity, charles had a bad childhood, charles is understandably a bit of a dick, domestic AU, emma frost is a...therapist?, erik is kind and patient and good, erik tries very hard, jean grey makes a cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5512889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borninsideatornado/pseuds/borninsideatornado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t have a head injury, do I?”<br/>“No. You were…” Erik searches for the words. He can’t be the one to say this. He is the only one who can say this. He owes it to Charles to say this. “You had surgery. You were… are… badly hurt.”<br/>“Well, I must be alright now. I don’t feel a thing.”<br/>Oh, Charles, Erik thinks, biting back a hysterical laugh, that’s precisely the point. </p><p>--</p><p>In which Erik and Charles are frustratingly human, Charles ends up in the wheelchair in a car crash, and they try to make it alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how long this will be, will add tags/characters are it progresses, but here's the first little bit! Title from Beware! Cougar! by the The Academy Is.  
> Trigger warnings for vague mentions of Charles' childhood, major character injury, death mentions, and general hospital things.

“He’s going to be up soon,” Raven says, looking up from her spot at Charles’ side, “They… told me while you were gone.” Erik’s grip on his coffee cup tightens, sloshing some onto the floor.

“I could have _missed_ it.”

“You didn’t.” Raven sounds exhausted. “Do you want me to be here?” Erik glances between them, to the beeping machines and wires, to Charles.

“No,” he says with finality. No, because he’s trying to work on being less selfish (more like Charles) and Raven shouldn’t have to experience this. He watches her face as she considers arguing, but when she meet his red rimmed eyes, she lets her protests fall.

Erik is sparing her.

She stands, squeezing his shoulder. “You’ll be okay. Call me when he’s… Ready for visitors.”

Erik can see Hank in the hall, standing to greet her. She holds on a fraction too long when he hugs her, and Erik’s almost sure her shoulders are shaking.

Charles would pity her. Erik just envies her.

He hasn’t cried yet. Once Charles is awake, he won’t be able to. He needs to be strong.

He shuts the door, swallowing, before assuming Raven’s spot beside the bed, taking Charles’ hand and tracing his wedding ring.

“In sickness and in health,” he mutters to himself, repeating it in his head, over and over.

The hand he’s holding starts to pull back out of his grip.

“Hey. Hey. Charles, love? Can you open your eyes?” He swears Charles closes his eyes tighter. “It’s Erik. Please.”

Slowly, slowly, blue eyes blink open, watching him with a weary expression. He watches as Charles looks around the room, taking in his surroundings, placing himself in a hospital.

Charles has been in the hospital before, Erik knows. It explains why those blue eyes widen, darting around as if he is waiting for Kurt to come back. Erik has seen him like this before, waking up from nightmares, or lost to a panic attack.

“You were in a car accident.” Erik keeps his voice calm, steady, as if this fact is completely benign. “Nobody hurt you.” He tightens his grip on Charles’ hand, tentatively. “I’m here. Just me.” It does nothing to calm the racing pulse he can feel under his thumb.

“I remember.” Erik wonders what he could possibly remember.

Pain, fear, the deafening sound of metal on metal. Erik pulling them out of the car as Charles screamed, obviously unaware that the sound came from his own mouth. Something he only wishes he could forget.

“You’re alright.” Charles sounds calmer this time, and Erik’s heart aches. _Yes. I am. But you’re not. It should have been me._ He says none of this. “Your arm.” Erik glances down at the sling; he’d almost forgotten.

“Quite broken, I’m afraid.” _It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t matter._ He can see Charles processing the timeline. Erik has clearly had time to have his arm x-rayed, set, and put into a cast. The cut on his eyebrow is stitched closed. And he has only just woken up.

“How long was I out?” Charles starts to try to sit up, as if he wants to stretch, but Erik gently pushes him back down.

“Please. Keep still.” It isn’t meant to sound so sharp and panicked.

“I don’t have a head injury, do I?”

“No. You were…” Erik searches for the words. He can’t be the one to say this. He is the only one who can say this. He owes it to Charles to say this. “You had surgery. You were… are… badly hurt.”

“Well, I must be alright now. I don’t feel a thing.”

 _Oh, Charles,_ Erik thinks, biting back a hysterical laugh, _that’s precisely the point._

 

Erik doesn’t have to tell him, in the end. The doctor comes to check his morphine levels, comments on being pleased to see him awake, and reads his prognosis off a clipboard with little emotion. It’s his job, Erik knows, but an irrational part of him is angry.

Charles Xavier will never walk again. The least the man can do is apologize.

 

They wait in silence, for either one to react, when the doctor leaves. Erik doesn’t know where to begin; _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it should have been me, are you going to resent me for saving you, are we going to be alright, how can I fix this for you when I know there’s nothing I can do?_

He runs through the outcomes the nurses offered him. Grief. Denial. Bright optimism that would be a mask for devastation. He’s expected the last one, but as he watches Charles’ face, it becomes clear which one is playing out: Shock.

Charles rolls to face away from him, tugging their hands apart. Of course, Erik notes with a grimace, he can only turn his upper body. “So,” he says, completely monotone, “Was the other driver okay?”

“The other driver,” Erik repeats. He blinks. “He… passed.” He can hear the angry monologue play out in his head: _You shouldn’t care, Charles, he hit us, and he was drunk, and he did this to you, to us, and you could have died, I could have lost you…_ But he can’t bring himself to feel anger. He’s been angry at the world enough in the past twenty-four hours. Even the voice in his head is tired of yelling.

“Oh.” Charles swallows audibly. “Not as lucky as I am, then.” Erik doesn’t know how to reply to that. Lucky to be alive, they both are. But he certainly isn’t thanking his lucky stars. Not today. “You pulled me out,” Charles adds, without emotion.

“Of course I did.”

“With a broken arm?”  
  
“I didn’t even notice it. Adrenaline, I suppose.” He supposes he ought to be proud, but he doesn’t feel like a hero. Charles needs his saving just as much now, and he’s floundering. And it’s not as if he could have left his husband in a nearly-flattened vehicle. “You… lost consciousness before the paramedics arrived,” he offers.

“I assumed.” Charles is quiet for a long moment. “Were you here the whole time?”

“Of course,” Erik answers, quickly, “Where else would I be? I… I waited the whole night while you were in surgery, and I’ve been here, except for the bathroom and coffee, I was just feeling a little drowsy, see, I didn’t want to, but Raven said--”

“Love. You’re getting a bit hysterical.” Charles turns back toward him, and Erik releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “That’s very romantic, is all.” He offers a small smile. It’s meant to be reassuring. It makes Erik want to cry.

“What can I say.” There’s no playfulness to the remark.

“Raven was here, you said.”

“Same as me. Waited all night. Hank took her home, just now, to…” He pauses. “To rest.”  
  
“Good man.” Charles bites his lower lip, eyes still too wide and body too stiff, none of his usual animation to his words. His eyes are downcast, voice almost a whisper when he speaks again. “Um. If you… You know. I imagine my recovery will be difficult. If you need… I wouldn’t ask you to endure it with me, is all.”

“Charles, what are you talking about?” Erik’s heart rate starts to pick up. He remembers the one time they broke up, eighteen and stupid, when Charles drunkenly slept with one of their mutual friends; remembers missing three days of school, his mother worrying at his bedside as he cried like a child, his phone telling him every few seconds that he had a new apology text-message. He can’t endure that again. He _won’t._

“I’m just asking that…” Charles bites down on his lower lip, daring the tears in his eyes to fall. “I’m asking that if you’re going to leave, you go ahead and do it now. I’d hate to… Be used to relying on you.”

 _“Charles._ ”

“If you stay, you’re promising me it’s for good, so please think this through, this wasn’t exactly what you signed up for when you married me and-”  
  
“Charles, goddamnit, shut up.” He winces at the harsh way it comes out. He rarely raises his voice, not knowing the associations Charles has with getting shouted at, but he can’t stand another second of this. “I love you. I love you now, just like I did yesterday. I love you more, even. Like I do every day that I know you.” He swallows. “I didn’t even want to leave to get _coffee._ I would _never_ leave you.” He twines their hands again, squeezing. “I will be here, no matter what happens.”

“You’ll be here,” Charles murmurs, testing the concept as if it’s foreign. He’s never been one for trust.

Erik thinks of all the years it took for them to build it, and prays that Charles can remember it now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles absorbs what's going on, overhears some things he doesn't like, and has a bit of a panic attack. Erik is lovely, as always. Check notes for trigger warnings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mental illness, panic attacks, injury, flashbacks related to child abuse.

For some reason, it’s the idea of Erik by his side that brings Charles to tears. 

Just a few at first, because he’s touched, and then an ocean.

He tries to push himself up, having trouble breathing in his current lying down position, but then he remembers that his back is thoroughly bandaged and in some sort of brace and also, he is paralyzed from the waist down, and he begins to blubber like a child.

Erik watches him for a terrible moment, eyes wide with something like pity, not sure how to reach him in their current positions. “Here,” he says softly, after a moment, “Let me...” He moves Charles gently to the right, as if he might break, and somehow maneuvers him so that Erik’s arms are tight around him, holding him up against his chest. 

Charles is vaguely aware that the noises he’s making are terribly ugly, and his eyes are beginning to itch, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He tries to remember his earlier thoughts, that he’s lucky to be alive, but it doesn’t help.

“It’s alright,” Erik murmurs, as if reading his mind, “Does no good to hold it in, you know that.” In a different situation, he’d smile, thinking of all the times he’s told Erik this - that his anger and his sorrow cannot stray wrapped inside him, or they’ll kill him, that they have to  _ talk  _ about these things - and hearing it repeated back to him. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me,” Charles hears himself repeat. And he does. Erik is there, solid and real and strong, and he will hold him up. 

 

The pain comes back within a few hours of him being awake, and he whimpers and tries to turn over, to get away from it. The morphine helps, but it also makes everything cloudy, and most of what he remembers from there is Erik, who brushes his sweaty hair off his forehead and tells him that it will pass. Charles clings to his words and his touch like a lifeline. 

Somewhere in the fuzzy hours, he falls asleep. 

 

When he wakes up, he’s alone. 

 

He chides himself not to panic. Erik is here. Erik won’t leave him. He promised -  _ has  _ promised, so many times, over the years. Erik has has been devoted to him since high school. He goes through all the things he usually reminds himself, when his fear of abandonment creeps up on him. Thinks of the past ten years with the man that he loves, distracts himself by reciting Erik’s vows. Swallows the bile in his throat when he realizes that he cannot get up and look for him.

He hears voices in the hallway, and the more awake he becomes, they become more clear. One of them - oh, thank God - is Erik. Another, unfamiliar.

“Well I suggest you bloody well  _ try _ -” Erik is saying- more shouting, really. 

“Mr. Lehnsherr, please, understand. He’s sustained significant trauma. Science makes incredible leaps every day. But… for now… Well, there’s physical therapy, if he’s willing to try, but-”  
  
“We’ll try anything.”

“Mr. Lehnsherr. What he needs right now is… for you to be realistic. So let me say this more simply. He will be wheelchair bound. He will be in control of his faculties, which is… fortunate. The pain will fade with time. The stitches from his surgery will come out in a few weeks. Scarring should be minor. And… We’ll leave you with some… references. Counselors.”

“Fortunate,” Erik says, slowly, ignoring the rest of the doctor’s words. 

“It could have been much worse. And he’s fortunate to have a dedicated…”

“Husband.” Erik’s voice is sharp, too used to judgement, too tired. 

“Right. Anyway. Try… not to focus on recovery. It’s more about… finding a new normal. I doubt your home has accommodations?” 

 

Charles rolls himself over, pulling the blanket over his head and trying to tune them out. He tries to tackle what he’s feeling the way he’d tell Raven to do, or one of his students: One emotion at a time, process things slowly, don’t jump to conclusions. But his brain is still fuzzy with the morphine, and moving onto his side hurt and now plain is flooding his consciousness, too. 

He tries to keep himself from feeling everything at once, tries to compartmentalize, but it happens all at once anyway.  _ Oh, God, how will I ever get to our bedroom, I didn’t even think about that, I don’t want a new bedroom, I don’t want anything to change why did this happen to me what if Erik doesn’t want me he sounds so disappointed-  _

The red-black of panic sets in, and he has no strength to fight it. He almost wants to laugh, as he hears himself hyperventilate, almost detached. At least he’s breathing. Lucky him. 

 

And then there are hands on his shoulders, firm. The medication is clouding his brain, and combined with the panic - _and probably disassociation,_ his brain supplies, in his therapist’s voice- he finds himself mumbling, “Don’t touch me, get off me.” He hears the heart monitor beeping and in his mind’s eye, sees his mother’s disappointed face, when he’d had to get the pins put in his arm, like if he was going to get himself thrown down the stairs, he should at least be able to weather it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t make me go home, please…” 

“Charles. No one’s making you go anywhere. Please look at me.” It’s not Mother’s voice. Not a woman’s voice at all. “Liebling, it’s alright, breathe.” German endearments. Hands on his skin. 

_ Erik.  _

“We’re… going to give you something to calm down, Charles,” says a voice he doesn’t know. His eyes fly open.

“That won’t be necessary,” Erik says for him. The anger in his tone would normally add to Charles’ anxiety, but instead it calms him. They’ll listen to Erik. Erik is assertive and clear-headed. People listen to Erik. “He just needs a moment. He… has a bit of a panic disorder, at least I think, we’re still in the process of… evaluations. They asked me about it when we got here…” 

“Erik,” Charles mumbles. His voice sounds like his own, at least, not far away.

“Yes, love, I’m right here.” Erik sighs, relieved, and brushes his hair back from his forehead. Charles leans into the touch.

His face is coming into focus; he looks angry and stressed and guilty, and the black circles under his eyes are more defined than last time Charles saw him. “I shouldn’t have left you, I’m so sorry, just, you were finally asleep, so I thought it was better if we talked in the hallway…” 

“You’re here.” It comes out like a sob.

“Yes, right here, I’m right here.” Erik looks up at the doctor, who’s leaning over them, clipboard in hand. “See? He’s alright.” There’s still a space beside Charles where Erik had been earlier, and he sits, allowing Charles to turn his face to press into his thigh. 

“Don’t like hospitals,” Charles tries to explain, whimpering. 

“I know. But you’re safe. I only left for a moment, and whatever you… Thought was going on, isn’t, do you want me to tell you what happened, or do you remember?” It’s all practiced, routine. They’re no strangers to the demons in Charles’ head. 

He wonders, in some part of his mind that’s calm and functioning, what new triggers and nightmares he’ll have now, about metal and screaming. 

“I remember.” 

“Alright. That’s good. That’s so good. Keep breathing, please, do you need me to show you-”

“No. ‘s okay.” Charles really just doesn’t want to answer any more questions, and also wants this doctor to go away, before he finds another excuse to sedate him. Erik seems to get the idea, and just cards a hand through his hair, soothing. 

Charles wishes he could sit up and cling to him, but he hurts and the fuzziness is weighing him down. He wishes he had appreciated the ability more yesterday.

They sit like that for awhile, until Charles’ breathing sounds almost normal, and the doctor leaves, apparently satisfied.

“You don’t have to tell me, but… Was it just that I left?” Erik asks, quietly, after a while.

“It was a lot of things.” Charles doesn’t want to talk about it, but he knows that if he says that, Erik will feel even more helpless. “Will you come down here? I want… I want you to hold me. Then we can talk about it.” 

“Of course.” Erik is much too tall to fit in the hospital bed beside him, but somehow they make it work, Erik’s arms loosely around his body and legs halfway off the side. 

“I just…” He hides his face in Erik’s shirt, soothing himself with the familiar smell. No matter what is going to happen, this is constant. Ten years constant. He lets that comfort him. “I heard you talking. In the hall.” 

“Ah,” Erik says, tensing, before he can continue.

“It was just… Awfully formal. And, um. You seemed… Well. Angry. At my prognosis. I panicked.”

“Am I supposed to be thrilled?” The tension, if anything, increases.

“I just…” Charles can’t find the words, why it struck such a chord with him. “I want you to be with me for… For now. Not for… the possibility I could… be normal again, one day.” Erik surprises him, pausing before replying, considering what he said, actually making sure this is what he wants. In one way, it’s gratifying. They’ve grown up. They’ve built this. They can communicate, they can talk it out, without Erik getting angry and defensive or Charles becoming passive-aggressive. In another, it’s terrifying, because what if Erik realizes that doesn’t want this? 

“I want you for now,” Erik says finally, “I just… I want to be able to… Offer you something. I wanted to be able to tell you there was a treatment, or. Or something.” 

“I don’t want false hope. Besides, you always tell me I’m too optimistic. I wouldn’t think you’d want to… Give me ideas.”  
  
“You always tell me I’m too pessimistic. I was… Thinking I’d like to be more like you.”

“You say hope is a dangerous thing,” Charles says softly. It makes an awful lot of sense right now.

“Well.” Erik looks away from him, biting his lower lip. “It may be. But… Right now… it’s all I have.” 

“I don’t want you to hope I’ll get better.”

“Can I hope you’ll be okay?”

“Yes.” Charles twines their fingers, and squeezes, hard enough to let Erik know that he’s terrified. “I hope that too.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik goes home to rest, a little bit of hope, some interaction between Erik and Raven, a Hank interlude, Charles and Erik have a dog... Not necessarily in that order. Enjoy!  
> TW for mention of injury, hospital stuff, and panic attacks.

The next few days aren’t much better. Erik falls asleep in his chair, eventually, slumped over onto the bed. Charles pets his hair and shushes him when he starts to stir. He needs rest. 

The morphine button is his new best friend, and having his bandages changed, he finds, is his worst enemy. When they’re on, the bandages itch and sting, and taking them off is hellish.

Raven comes to visit, and under Erik’s watchful eye- watchful glare, really- she tells him stories and makes him laugh. Charles can see the sadness in her eyes, but he’s decided that all considering, he’s allowed a few days reprieve from taking care of other people. He needs a couple of days to break, and put himself back together, or let Erik put him back together, and then he can be there for Raven, tell her he’s okay, that she shouldn’t be sad. 

Hank stands in the doorway for the first two visits, but on the third, Charles beckons him to his bedside. He looks to Erik, and Charles almost laughs. “He won’t bite. Just don’t say you’re sorry, or anything that will make him want to punch you.” Erik nods thoughtfully. “Come on, then,” Charles urges him, “Sit. Tell me about work. I miss it.” 

“Your students miss you,” Hank says immediately, looking for Erik for approval, who almost smiles. “Everyone asks about you. They want to come see you, Logan, Moira, everyone, really.” 

“Do they know about…” Charles gestures around him vaguely.

“I haven’t said much. Just that you’ll probably be out awhile.” 

“I’ll be glad to go back. I’m really getting quite bored.” He’d swear Erik audibly growls. “And I  _ will _ be going back,  _ Erik,  _ but you’re right, I’ll be out for awhile.” He sighs. “What are they doing about my classes? They’ve called, I know, but I haven’t listened to the messages.” 

“I think your grad student is covering. Alex? Summers, right? I expect they’ll send you essays to grade when you’re ready…” Hank shrugs. Charles groans. Alex can handle it, he knows, but the stress of the whole situation must be awful on the boy. And it’s  _ really  _ meant to be an expert-taught class. But then again, nothing about his situation is ideal. 

“When you’re ready,” Hank emphasizes, thinking Charles is groaning about the essays. He doesn’t bother to correct him, but truthfully, he’d love some essays to grade right now. Any distraction is a welcome one. 

Erik must notice the wistful look in his eye, because he quickly changes the subject, inquiring about the plants he’d asked Hank and Raven to water, which reminds Hank that their dog (Chewy, short for Chupacabra, thanks to Charles) is apparently depressed without them and begins an entirely new discussion.

Erik is glad for a light-hearted subject, he can tell, so he lets them carry on, trying not to think about the simple things he used to love, like walking his damn dog, or kneeling to greet him when he gets home. He feels awfully like a child, hating everything, which is a feeling he’s experienced a lot in the last few days. Erik touches his shoulder, gently, with his good arm, and Charles doesn’t look up.

“He’s in a lot of pain, you understand. Maybe come back tomorrow?” Reluctantly, Raven bends to kiss Charles’ forehead and agrees, leaving with Hank in tow. Charles had been happy to see them, truly, but now he’s just relieved. Everything somehow reminds him of what he’s lost. It’s incredibly draining.

“I miss home,” he says, not knowing how else to word it. Erik watches him for a long moment.

“Me, too.” 

“Want to sleep in my own bed.” Charles pauses. “You can… You could go home.” It takes everything in him to say it. The idea of being here without Erik is, well, terrifying.

“It’s not home without you.” 

Charles doesn’t argue with that.

 

After a week, they do force Erik to go home. Just for the night, to rest, and “eat something, goddamnit,” as Raven had put it. 

“Your phone is right here, okay? Right here,” he tells Charles about fifty times, “I love you, and I’ll be back in the morning, I’ll bring you some things from home that you like, and you can call me if you think of anything you’d want-” 

“I’m just going to sleep, love. It’s really alright.” Charles tries to sound brave, but Erik sees through him.

“If you need me to come back, I will. Just call.” Charles pauses to consider it, starts to think of an argument, and then nods. 

 

Home is strange. Everything is where they’d left it, before they’d decided to go out to dinner, and  _ that  _ happened. Charles’ blankets are at the foot of the couch, because his feet get cold, and one of his books is sitting open on the coffee table. Erik would normally be twitching to clean up, but he doesn’t want to disturb it. He wants to pretend that Charles will come home and curl up in this spot, like he always does, yawning and telling stories about his students. 

Without Charles, the room doesn’t hold the same warmth. He gets the feeling that even the furniture is yearning for Charles to come home. 

“Well he’s not,” he tells it, out loud, “He’s hurt, and he can’t come home.” He must look like an idiot, talking to the living room couch. He can’t bring himself to care. “I let him get hurt,” he says, maybe to himself this time, “I know, I’m supposed to protect him…” He thinks of Charles coming to school with bruises, of cornering him after class and demanding to know where they were coming from. He thinks of the first few panic attacks that he’d witnessed, of being sure that Charles was going to stop breathing and possibly die. Thinks of Charles, in the middle of the night, curled in on himself and sobbing, trying to stay quiet so not to wake Eric. “I know,” he mumbles, feeling his knees give out, his face hot with tears. He’s almost sure the furniture is glaring at him.  “I never can.” 

He stays like that for a while, crying like he hasn’t since Mama died. At least then, Charles had been able to hold him. He reaches for Charles’ blanket and presses his face into it, making sure he remembers what Charles smelled like, before he smelled like a hospital. 

“God, Charles, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” A voice in the back of his head scoffs at him. Charles can’t hear him, and Charles doesn’t blame him, or want his apologies. But he can’t stop saying it, now that it’s come out.

He cries until his head aches and his eyes are red, and it still doesn’t feel like relief. 

“Erik,” says a voice from behind him, a hand coming to squeeze his shoulder, “Erik, it’s alright.” 

He recognizes Raven’s voice too quickly to be startled. “What are you doing here?” Coming to sit beside him, Raven tugs the blanket around Erik’s shoulders, sighing.

“Thought you might wanna see your stupid dog. He won’t stop whining for you.” She takes his hand, squeezing. “It isn’t your fault. Nobody blames you.”  
  
“I know,” he says dumbly. He does, rationally, but he needs _someone_ to blame. Blaming himself is easiest. No one to fight with.

“Come on. I’ll help you make something to eat. You look like hell.” She stands, and feeling too small on the floor, Erik stands with her.

 

They sit across from each other in the kind of sober silence that only happens after tragedy. Raven didn’t like Erik at first, highly suspicious of why a football jock would want to cart her brainiac brother around on his arm, proudly, threatening anyone who tried to make comments about his sexuality. In her experience, people usually had ulterior motives. She watched him with a glare every time he came over, trying to uncover what his were.

And tried. And waited. 

Erik, she figured out, just happened to love Charles. And also not give a damn what anyone thought.

“How is he, really? I know he fakes when I’m there.” Raven stirs her coffee, not meeting Erik’s eyes. 

“He’s…” Erik shrugs, wincing. “He’s taking it day by day. He’s really in a lot of pain. And he doesn’t want to talk often.” 

“As if he didn’t have enough to deal with.” Raven shakes her head, not trying to hide her bitterness at all. Erik doesn’t blame her.

“Life isn’t often fair,” he says, and stands up to clean the dishes, glaring at them as he tries to figure out how to maneuver this with one arm. He could do with Charles’ optimism right now.

 

Raven leaves the dog with him, promising to get him in the morning. He groans, but inwardly, he’s relieved. 

He fought Charles like hell when he brought the thing home, wet and skinny, off the street, and gave him an extensive lecture about rabies. Charles, of course, had stood his ground, nursing the sad creature back to health and declared it Chupacabra, despite the fact it couldn’t be more than ten pounds. Because he was Charles. 

When he gets in bed, he doesn’t have the heart to reprimand Chewy for jumping into bed with him. He watches the dog survey Charles’ side of the bed, and then lay in it, decisively. 

“You’re a colossal asshole, you know that?” Erik chides, smiling despite himself as the dog lays his head on his chest, “You’re going to get his pillow all dirty, with your muddy paws. And you know he won’t even yell at you.” Big brown eyes watch him, inquisitive. “Well, I won’t, either, not today. I’m being nice dad today.” Now he’s talking to the dog. God damnit. Charles would be delighted, at least, making some comment about how “his men” are finally getting along.

He shakes his head, mentally smacking himself. He ought to stop thinking of Charles like he’s dead. Charles is alive, hospital or not, and he  _ will  _ be home. He will sit in his spot in the living room again. He’ll lay in this bed with Erik again, even if he has to move it downstairs or carry Charles up here. 

They will still have a good life. 

They can still have  _ their  _ life. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik love each other, mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for nightmares, car accidents, injury, some low self esteem/internalized ableism from dear Charles, and some close to turning intense kissing, I guess?  
> This one's a bit short, with a bit of an abrupt ending, but I just wanted to get it out there before my internet dies again. Please let me know what you think!

Charles is trying extremely hard to be optimistic today. Erik will be back in an hour, and he needs to be alright for him, so he doesn’t feel guilty. He’s caused enough guilt.

The sun is out, which is good. Maybe he’ll convince the nurses or Erik to roll him outside. He _has_ been flirting with them an awful lot, just for a way to pass the time. Maybe it could come in handy.

He has morphine, which is also good, and his back isn’t hurting him, right now. He even sits up by himself, which is a victory.

He reminds himself of all of this, so that he can be smiling, when Erik gets there.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen that way, because he fall asleep. Which, recently, means nightmares.

It’s Erik, in the dream, whose spine is shattered, who’s screaming. But Charles can’t get him out, and he just listens to him scream, until- “Hey. Hey. Wake up. Come on, Charles, you’re dreaming. Wake up.”

Erik’s gripping his shoulder with his good arm, tight enough to jar him awake but not enough to hurt. Charles wants to cry, remembering his vow to make this a good morning, cursing the way his breathing has sped up.

“I. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Erik sits next to him, pressing a hand to his forehead, which Charles knows must be fever-hot.

“I just… Wanted to be… I wanted us to be happy, when you came back.” He takes Erik’s hand off his forehead, twining their fingers. “Just a nightmare. It’s okay. Can you help me sit up?”

“Alright…” Erik’s frowning - he obviously wants to talk about it - but he helps Charles into a sitting position, regardless. Charles folds against him, clinging but minding the arm in the sling.

“How is this, anyway?” he asks quietly, gently touching the plaster cast.

“My arm? It hurts, I guess. I’ve had worse.” Charles takes his hand, kissing each of Erik’s fingers.

“There. I’ve fixed it.” Erik grins his shark grin for the first time since the accident, and all the ice from the nightmares leaves Charles’ veins.

“You definitely have.” Charles stares at him for a long moment, and the grin starts to fade.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, abruptly, before it can. Erik blinks at him, processing, and presses that smile against Charles’ lips, gently, like he’s testing it.

“Hi, there.”

“Hi. I won’t break,” Charles teases, curling his fingers under Erik’s collar and pulling them closer, kissing him harder.

“Mmm. I missed you.”

“Shhh. We’ll talk later.” Erik seems alright with that. He deepens the kiss, one hand at Charles’ waist – gently, which Charles is grateful for. Whimpering, Charles snakes a hand under Erik’s shirt, growing pliant in his arms.

“Easy,” Erik murmurs, sounding just as lost as Charles, “I’m one handed, and you’re not so steady on your own.” Charles doesn’t stop, breaking from Erik’s lips to kiss down his throat, drawing a gasp.

“Honestly, Charles.”

“Lucky you broke your left arm, mm?”

“Oh, for fucks sake. Not here, love.” Erik’s chuckling, still exposing his neck, letting Charles nip at his skin. He wouldn’t know anything was wrong, if not for the way Charles looks up at him, eyes wide, and how small his voice sounds when he speaks.

“Don’t you want me?” Erik frowns at him, looking startled, as Charles pulls away, wobbling a bit. He knows it’s silly, but he’s been wondering about this, if Erik will still sleep with him, will be alright with trying new positions, with adjusting. If he’ll be too scared to hurt him, or won’t find him attractive anymore.

“Charles…” Oh, god. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. “Charles, darling, look at me, of course I want you.” Erik sighs, drawing a hand up and down Charles’ arm, trying to offer comfort. The touch feels forced and strange. Charles shudders away. “For God’s sake. You’re still hooked up to your morphine drip, and bandaged up like a mummy. It’s just a bad idea. I… I want you.”

“You’re right.” Charles can’t look at him, swallowing the lump in his throat. He feels silly. The medications _do_ make him awfully emotional, and he hadn’t slept well without Erik here. But still, he feels ugly and small, and the hurt makes no moves to go away. “’m sorry. Bit of a mess right now.”

“You’re allowed to be. Please let me see you. It’s alright.” Charles looks up at him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Erik brushes his thumb over Charles’ cheek, just incase any tears fall. “There. You’re perfect. Just like this. I’m just watching out for you.” Erik kisses him, gently. “We can do this. Just. Slow, okay?” Charles smiles, tentatively.

“You know that’s not how I like it.”

“Oh, hush. Honestly. Write a list, we’ll do whatever you like when you’re well.”

 _“Whatever_ I like?”

“Not _that,”_ Erik says pointedly.  Charles laughs, pressing his forehead against Erik’s shoulder.

“Thank you. Sorry for being ridiculous.” Erik strokes his hair, just quietly listening. “I’ve been. Very off-balance, I know.”

“You’re allowed to be. Like I said.”

“How are you?” Charles asks, after a moment. He’s not sure he’s really asked. _Selfish,_ he scolds himself.

“I’m alright.” Erik tightens his good arm around Charles’ waist, like he needs something to ground him. “Had a bit of a meltdown last night, to be honest.”

“What… happened?”

“Just a big crying fit.” Erik sighs, “I’m just… Angry. You already have your mental health, which I know is so hard for you. If there’s anyone up there, I don’t… Want to believe they’d let this happen to you, on top of everything.” He winces, clearly thinking he’d said the wrong words.

“Well. Don’t hate the world for my sake.” Charles pulls back to kiss him. “I certainly don’t. Think about it. There’s…” He hesitates. “There are people like Kurt and Kain, and that’s awful, it is. There are people who get drunk and put other people in wheelchairs.” He traces Erik’s jaw. “Then there are people like you. And that’s quite remarkable.”

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming, Charles isn't doing as well as he hoped, Erik feels helpless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ends a bit abruptly, I feel quite awkward about it, so very sorry! TW for mental illness on this one.

Coming home is not as happy an occasion as Erik thought it would be.

For one, he’d grossly overestimated how much he can help Charles, with one arm. He certainly can’t carry him, so it’s a good thing he’s had the guest room downstairs made up. He can tell that Charles doesn’t like it, though, sleeping there, that he’s been yearning for the warmth of their bedroom. It doesn’t help that the unfamiliar shapes turn into nightmares in the dark.

Even helping him into his chair in the morning takes them awhile, making Charles yelp at the incision on his back when Erik’s good arm nearly gives out and he all but dumps him into the wheelchair. Erik concedes to Raven (and by extension, Hank) staying with them to help, which really means that she does everything and leaves Erik feeling positively helpless.

“It’s alright,” Charles tries to tell him, “You’re healing, too.”

Only, it isn’t. He’s Charles’ husband, for fuck’s sake, in sickness and health, and he’s _needed,_ and he can’t be there, because a few bones in his fucking arm couldn’t hold up against a car crash. Stupid. He’d take the cast off now if he could. He really has had worse, football injuries that he couldn’t even count on his fingers. But Charles would hardly approve.

Charles is obviously finding it hard to accept all the assistance he now needs, snapping at everyone and then apologizing, trying very hard to do things on his own and often failing, resulting in some particularly nasty bruises.

It would be easier if it were Erik. Not _easy,_ but Erik’s the one who takes care of him when he’s sick, or drunk, or hungover, or having a particularly bad mental health day. Erik’s the one who took him in when he was seventeen and came out and Kurt nearly killed him. Erik’s much harder to be ashamed around. Having his baby sister as his primary caretaker, Charles confides, feels sickly like defeat.

 

Charles starts to slip two weeks into his homecoming. The first day, he insists that he only wants to rest, that he hasn’t slept well and he’s cold and doesn’t want to get up. When Erik chides him to come have breakfast, his voice cracks. “Please, Erik, can I just. Have this day to sleep, I don’t feel very well,” he almost begs, and Erik concedes, bringing him his breakfast in bed. He checks his temperature one hundred times, checks his incision for any side of infection and brings him his painkillers and antibiotics on time. This, he tells himself, he can do.

The next day it’s the same argument, and on the third, Charles seems too exhausted to argue, simply stares at the wall and shakes his head when Erik asks him to come eat.

“Love,” he murmurs, pressing his palm to Charles’ forehead, which indicates no signs of fever, “You’ve been in bed for three days now. Let’s just try, mm? We can come back to bed, if you still want that.”

“I don’t want to try.” There’s no bite behind it, which just makes it more worrisome.

“Come on, you only have to sit and eat. Is there something you want? I can make it.”  
  
“Not hungry. Turn the light back off. I just want to sleep.” Eric glances toward the door, where Raven is watching them, and shakes his head. No dice.

“Okay. I’m… Going to bring you some tea, and we’ll try again later.” Erik brushes his hair back gently, biting his bottom lip with concern. Charles doesn’t even reply, just pulls his blanket over his head and goes back to sleep. Or at least pretends, so Erik will go away.

Raven, surprisingly, doesn’t try to convince Charles. She just follows Erik to the kitchen and hands him the sugar once the tea’s done.

“Fuck,” she says to the countertop, raking a hand back through her hair.

“Yeah.” Erik winces, trying to be precise with how much sugar he adds, like maybe it will make Charles better if he gets it right. “He’s… He’s not alright, is he.”

“No. Have you seen him like that before?”

“Once or twice,” Erik admits, “Before we started getting him help. I’ve seen him refuse to get out of bed. He’s never looked so… I don’t know. Lifeless.” When it’s happened before, it’s been because he’d been panicking and was too scared to get up, or because the panic attacks had taken all his energy. He’s certainly never slept for _three days._ He swallows. “I should. Call his therapist.” Charles would roll his eyes, mumble something sarcastic about Erik thinking he’s a headcase, but he’s not a damn professional. And this is his Charles, his husband, the person who taught him what love even was in the first place. Who he’s already nearly lost, who he let get hurt too many times already. If he’s not well, Erik needs to _do_ something about it, not just trade theories with Raven and keep on waiting for Charles to spike a fever.

Emma wants to talk to Charles on the phone, but he says he’s too tired, which Erik could’ve predicted. She asks Erik to try again later, and to see if they can make an appointment for him to come in, but Erik can’t imagine how they’d get Charles there, with his limited mobility and now complete lack of energy. For now, she predicts that he’s depressed and grieving. All they can do, she says, is try to get him to do things he enjoys, to be very kind and understanding with him, to force him to do some things he doesn’t want to do but also concede to some of his wishes, even if they are to lie in bed for hours. It’s a normal reaction, apparently, especially to someone with poor mental health to start. But Erik glances at Charles, curled up with that strange, glassy look in his eyes, and can’t see anything normal about it.

Forcing him is not as easy as it sounds. Charles might not weigh much, especially after his hospital stay, and be paralyzed from the waist-down, but apparently he can still put up a fight.

Erik catches Raven wrestling with him, trying to get him into the shower, which she has already turned on.

“Bugger off, Raven, honestly! I- get off me!” She’s got him sat up on the counter, trying to unbutton his shirt, and he’s struggling out of her grasp. If the timing were more appropriate, Erik would ask how she’d managed to get him this far.

“You have laid in your own filth for too long, Charles Francis! Come on, stop, are you five?” Charles isn’t trying to harm her, not actually hitting as much as batting her away. He usually frowns upon violence.

“Erik! Erik, tell my bloody sister to get _off_ of me, this is entirely inappropriate.” The anger is the most emotion Erik’s seen out of Charles in days.

“You’ve got to take a shower,” Erik says, trying for a neutral tone.

“Oh, not you, too! You’re all against me, aren’t you?” He’s being dramatic, but Erik winces.

“Come help me, here, Erik, will you?”

“I imagine you tried asking nicely first, right?” Erik raises an eyebrow in Raven’s direction.

“Of course I did, he agreed to let me take a look at his back, but now he’s having a fit about the shower. Please, can you just hold him down?”

“You aren’t going to side with her over your own husband, are you?”

“Oh, come off it. This is ridiculous. Charles, love, get in the damn shower.” Erik’s almost impressed as Charles shoves Raven back off him. “You were hardly so shy when she was cleaning you up after the Christmas party, hmm? And you’ll feel better. I’d really rather not… manhandle you.” Too many other people in Charles’ life have been less than gentle with him, not that Raven means it in that way. Charles clearly isn’t afraid of _her_ , but Erik isn’t going to risk it.

“Really? You usually love that,” Raven mutters, crossing her arms and letting Charles free. In a different world, Erik would laugh at the comment.

“I don’t want to,” Charles says, his voice soft suddenly. His eyes are wider than a moment ago. “Please, don’t make me.” It’s the same desperate tone from the other day - _please, Erik, give me the day to sleep…_ Erik swallows.

“Raven, can you give us a moment? Stay close, you know I can’t lift him very well on my own. Just. Some privacy, please.” She scoffs, saying something under her breath that sounds a lot like “good fucking luck” but leaves, however begrudgingly.

“Alright. What’s going on?” Erik asks once she’s gone, trying to keep his voice gentle. “Is this really worth having such a fit?” Charles looks at his feet silently for a moment.

“I don’t want her help,” he says, finally, “I…” He actually looks like he might cry. Erik takes his hand, squeezing gently.

“Go on. It’s only me.”  
“I don’t want her to see me, Erik.”

“As I said earlier, you’ve hardly been shy in the past.” It’s not that Charles is confident, per say, just that he figures he has better things to worry about than whether or not his sister has seen him naked. Erik offers a small smile, but Charles doesn’t return it.

“I’m all… Stitched together.” He shrugs like it’s hard for him to make the movement. “I’m just… I’m very tired, and I feel… Very not right, and I just. Don’t want anyone to see me.” He’s whispering now, like the fight with Raven had taken his the last of his energy. Erik frowns at him for a moment before stepping forward to wrap his arms around Charles’ waist, forehead against his chest. Charles clings back with surprisingly strength, letting Erik support his weight.

“I know. I know you haven’t been well.” Erik strokes Charles’ hair, which he notes is curling from all the time in bed. He tries not to think about everything he can’t fix, and just be there, to hold his husband, who needs him. “I’m… Trying to figure out how to help you, but I just. Don’t know.” It’s a weakness, hard to admit, but Charles would want him to be honest. “Your hygiene isn’t exactly negotiable. Can you just do this one thing for me?”

“I don’t. Want her to see me.” Charles sounds like there’s a lump in his throat, and Erik does _not_ want to be the one to make him cry.

“Alright,” he concedes, after a moment, “How about I draw you a bath, and we’ll leave Raven out of it? I can do that much. She will have to get you down, though, unless you want a brain injury to match when I drop you.”

“‘m not supposed to take baths, you know, with my stitches and all…”  
  
“Better than staying filthy. Will you do it?” Charles considers, his grip on Erik loosening as he sits back, still keeping the link in their hands.

“Yes. Alright. Only if you get in with me.” If he didn’t look so sad, Erik might say his smile looks mischevious.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles still isn't doing so hot; someone from his past comes back (kind of); Erik gets angry (finally). I promise the next one will be more hopeful!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever, next one will be out much faster! A bit short, too, but oh well. TW for mentions of alcoholism, abuse, nightmares, and depression. I think that should be all!

Charles improves for a few days, and then not so much.

Erik gets the cast off his arm, which makes things better. It’s weak and atrophied, and aches, but it works. He can do almost everything for Charles now, even though he probably shouldn’t, preventing more arguments with Raven.

Charles gets out of bed, eats, and not much else, but it’s enough. They go outside as he learns more about getting around. He even smiles and laughs when the dog figures out how to jump into his lap while the wheelchair’s in motion.

And then, inevitably, he crashes. It’s five days, this time, that he won’t get up. He hardly talks except for to yell at Erik to “leave him the _fuck_ alone” and tell Raven she should go home already.

Erik tries not to think about the fact that he’d love to get in bed and not get up, too. He tries not to think about all he’s missing at work. And he doesn’t even entertain thoughts about what would happen if he did go back to work and left Charles here alone.

He finally manages to drag Charles in to see the doctor, who prescribes him more medication they both doubt will work. He goes to see Emma, but when he comes back out, he’s in tears and muttering about Erik being an asshole for making him come.

Erik just holds him and says nothing when he asks if he has to go back. They both know therapy isn’t optional. But they can always pretend.

He tries to pry, on their way home, to find out what she asked that made him so upset, but he won’t talk. Not that he’s surprised. Charles never talks to him anymore.

“I’m getting you a car,” he says to fill the silence. “You know, with hand controls.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go. Don’t waste the money.”  
  
“We have plenty of money. You’ll go back to work eventually. I don’t want you to feel like you rely on me.”

“Would it be so bad if I did?” There’s a bite to Charles’ voice that makes him fall silent. No use in fighting.

When they get home, Charles asks him to take a turn around the block. Erik pretends they’re going out to dinner, like they did That Night. He pretends everything is alright, that Charles would even be willing to go out.   


Their house phone is obnoxiously informing them they have one missed call when they get home. They ignore it for a little while, until it turns to two, and then three. Neither of them recognize the number, but Erik decides to call it back. He puts it on speaker to indulge Charles’ curiosity.

“Hello? Charles, darling? Oh, I’m so glad you called back.” Charles’ eyes go wide and he slams the phone down.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. That’s my _mother._ ”

*

Sharon hasn’t seen Charles since their wedding. He hadn’t wanted her there, even, and had asked Erik to politely whisk him away anytime she came by. She’d only been _invited_ because she funded the damn thing. That, at least, amused Charles, who knew Kurt would be turning over in his grave. That Charles was marrying a man, for one, and that his darling wife was paying for it.

She wasn’t a bad person, per say, but she was the kind of person who turned the other cheek when Kurt tried to kill him; more than enough to justify how much Charles resents her. Charles had taken his trust fund and declared himself finished, for good.

He has Raven to blame, probably, always trying to make amends. She’s talked to Sharon intermittently over the years, reported back to Charles that she was as much a drunk as always, and left it at that.

The next day, there’s a message.

“Now, Charles, I know we’ve had our differences, but Raven tells me you’ve been badly hurt, and I want to come see you, help around the house. How is Erik, anyway? Are you two managing? I hope you haven’t been having those episodes of yours-” Charles slams down on the delete button.

“She is not coming here,” he says sternly. Erik, of course, looks like he’s actually _considering_ it.  
  
“She’s your mother, Charles. This is… a big deal. Don’t you think you ought to see her?”  
  
“She could’ve been my mother when it mattered. You can call her back, if you like. Tell her to fuck off for me, would you?” Charles knows he’s being deliberately rude, that he’d normally regret talking to Erik that way. Lately, he can’t seem to care. He hears Erik take a deep breath, like he’s about to argue, but he just rolls over and closes his eyes before he can. 

*

Erik pushes the issue for a few more days, as gently as he can. A part of him is envious, that Charles still _has_ a mother to fight with. It’s only human, he supposes, but he still feels guilty for the sentiment. Sharon could hardly be called a mother. Erik’s loving parents were more than Charles ever had, save the few short years before his father died. And yet.

He tries to find a less selfish reason to try and get Charles to talk to her. He’ll regret it, if he doesn’t at least _try_ before it’s too late. What if they have children, one day, won’t they want a grandmother?

At that one, Charles laughs darkly, gesturing to his wheelchair, and makes a sharp comment about Erik having _enough_ to take care of.

 

Charles wakes up three nights in a row, hyperventilating, eyes wide and unseeing. He’s mumbling “Mother, please, I’m sorry, I won’t tell, please,” and trying to catch himself before he falls down an imaginary staircase. Erik doesn’t bring up Sharon again.

*

Erik does buy a van for Charles, as if he would learn how to drive it, or have the desire to _go_ anywhere. It’s just a reminder, that he can still have his freedom, if he ever decides to want it. Decides to want anything.

Erik tries everything he knows; his favorite desserts, his dog, even experiments with calling him “baby” for a few days, which Charles has always loved and Erik has always thought sounded ridiculous. He sits with him and offers to read to him, puts on bad television, anything, _anything_ that might bring his Charles back even for a moment.

Aside from the moments where he’s snapping at Erik, it’s like Charles is barely there. It’s not like those are much better.

 

“You know _what,”_ he says on the fifth day, “This. This is _done._ You are not going to lie here and waste away. Do you remember your students? Do you remember _me?_ You used to give a damn, Charles. You’re not allowed to lay down and die!” He doesn’t know where the rage is coming from, but it’s a focal point, it’s something to _do,_ feels productive, a new tactic he hasn’t tried yet to rouse Charles from this- this state, whatever it is. He rips the covers off of the bed before Charles can try to snatch them back. “All you do is yell at me like a petulant child, and stare at the ceiling. Do you think _that_ is going to heal your spine? Do you think it’s going to bring our old lives back!? I’m certainly trying to move forward.” Charles looks up at him, and he doesn’t even seem _offended,_ just tired, so tired, and Erik almost regrets everything.

“That’s because you can,” he says, too calmly, almost no emotion in his voice, “You didn’t _lose_ anything.”  
  
“No.” Erik laughs, bitter and abrupt, surprising himself with the sound. “No, but I may as well have lost you at this point, haven’t I?” Before Charles can reply, he picks up the blanket, laying it back over top of him, movements mechanic and too stilted to be kind. “Stay in the bed, what do I care. I’m going out.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two misunderstandings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a bit bleak, but I think it ends on a hopeful note. Sorry for the brevity with this one, but I think this scene really needs to stand on its own. TW for suicidal ideation, mentions of depression, and mentions of homophobia. Let me know if you catch anything else. Please, please comment if you like it!

Erik drives aimlessly for awhile, trying to think of anywhere he’d actually  _ go.  _ Normal people would call a friend, but, well, Erik’s not quite certain he has any friends. Raven and Hank, maybe, but he can hardly expect them to side with him over  _ Charles.  _ He hasn’t had time for friends in years. Not the type you bitch about your husband to.  _ Definitely  _ not the type who wouldn’t judge you for bitching about your husband when he’s just been paralyzed. He has colleagues, and he has Charles. And the Charles part, recently, is questionable at best.

He tries to regret what he said, tries to craft an apology. But he was only being honest. When’s the last time Charles said he loved him, anyway? Or  _ thanked  _ him? When’s the last time anyone asked if  _ he  _ is alright?

He doesn’t realize he’s driving back toward home until he’s in front of the house. Like any other time he’s upset, his gut reaction is to go to Charles. Charles, who’s held him, murmured to him to calm down, so many times: After he’d lost a case he’s fought for like hell, after a student asked to transfer out of Charles’ class because she “didn’t want a gay professor” and Erik nearly turned purple with fury. More times than he can count, Charles is always there, steady, like a rock. Even when they’ve fought, Charles has been there to soothe him; to tell him he’s an idiot if he thinks he’s going to ruin this that easily; to tell him they’ll fix it, they’ll work on it; to take criticism quietly and promise to try and fix it.

Right now, he doubts Charles will offer any of that. And he shouldn’t.

Erik is doing the opposite of helping him get better. He’s positively an asshole, and he’s lost and doesn’t know what he’s doing, but more than anything, the asshole part.

Still, he goes inside, because when he checks his watch, he realizes he’s left Charles alone for nearly an hour. Jesus, he’s so selfish. Charles needs his help to so much as go to the bathroom. What was he  _ thinking? _

He walks inside, tidying up to stall as he walks along. He lingers outside their makeshift downstairs bedroom for a moment. “Charles?” Nothing. He tries again. “Charles, love? I’m sorry. Can I come in?” Still nothing. His heart starts to race a little, and he pushes the door open.

Charles isn’t there. Neither is his wheelchair.

It takes a moment of panic to see exactly what he doesn’t want to see: The bottle of painkillers isn’t where he left it, on the side table. Fucking  _ idiot.  _ Leaving Charles alone, and. He’s been so depressed, he hadn’t  _ said  _ he was suicidal but then again, he barely talks to Erik anymore…

The bathroom door is closed, but not locked. When he tests the knob he can hear something on the other side. Okay. Alive. Maybe just heavy breathing, maybe - crying? He’s alive, whatever he’s done, and Erik can call a hospital, if he’s done something bad…

“Charles. I’m going to come in now,” he says, his voice sounding strangely calm and foreign to his ears. “Alright, then.” He twists the handle, a breath of relief spilling from his chest to see Charles, in his wheelchair, fully conscious and seemingly aware. The same glassy look in his eyes, but he’d been prepared for that. “You got up,” is all he can think to say.

“I… Yes. All by myself, no less.” Charles isn’t looking at him. “I… I wanted to… Do it by myself.” There’s something on the counter. Erik squints. It’s the pill bottle. It- It seems empty. God, no-

He grabs the bottle of pills, double checking; nothing’s in there. “Charles, jesus, what did you do!? Please say you didn’t-”   
  
“Thought about it, believe me.” Erik thinks he might throw up. “No. I. Look, I’ve spilled them everywhere. I was a bit aggressive with the cap.” Erik follows his gaze to see the pills, strewn across the floor. He swears this is the most he’s talked to God since his bar mitzvah as he thanks him, over and over. A world without Charles, well… He’s imagined it far too much recently, and it’s no world he wants to live in.

He’s so caught up in his relief that at first he misses Charles starting to cry.

“I. I can’t do anything, apparently. Just fuck it all up.” His voice is raw, like he was crying before Erik got there, too. “Fucking idiot.”

“Hey. Hey. That’s not true. That’s not true. I’ll pick them up for you, see?”  _ Thought about it, believe me.  _ It keeps playing in his mind, the panic dulled but not gone. He’ll do anything to make Charles feel better, anything. He gets to his knees, picking up the pills one at a time and pulling them back into the bottle, looking at Charles as he does so. “It’s alright, love, we can just clean this right up.” Charles just cries harder.

Erik sets the bottle of pills down and kneels at his side, taking his hands, which are freezing. He frantically tries to warm them, rubbing them between his own. “Tell me what’s wrong, okay? We’ll fix it. What do you need?”

“You left.” Charles sniffles, his eyes wide and blue.

“Just for a drive.” It sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

“I thought. I thought.” For a moment, Charles pauses to breathe, swallowing tears. “You said you didn’t want me to rely on you. I thought you were gone.”

“Charles… No. No.” Erik kisses his knuckles, each one, as if Charles could feel his love through osmosis. “I love you. I just went on a drive. I was angry. I would… I would never leave you. Especially not like this.”

“I can’t do this without you. I can hardly do it at all.” His voice breaks, and this time the tears are the worst kind, the kind that Erik knows come with the worst kind of pain; silent, while Charles shakes with sobs he can’t put sounds to.

“You don’t have to. You don’t. You never will. I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He’s kissing Charles’ thigh now, every inch of him he can.  _ You’re alive, and I’m here, I am… _

Charles’ locks his fingers around the back of Erik’s shirt, and he lets him hang on.

“Erik,” he says, after a moment, sounding hoarse, “Please stop. I. I can’t  _ feel  _ that.”

“Right.” It’s not until Erik hears himself that he knows he’s crying, too.

“It’s alright.” Charles’ fingers are in his hair now, stroking, just trying to keep him close.

“Let me take you to bed,” he says abruptly. “Just. Hold you awhile. Can I?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

*

They lie there for awhile, Charles’ pressed close against Erik’s chest as they both try to slow their breathing.

“I love you,” Erik whispers after a long while, “I’m so sorry I scared you.”  
  
“Don’t do it again,” Charles mumbles, still a little choked up, “And I love you, too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some hope! A bunch of small moments where things are a bit iffy, but also falling together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vague mentions of mental illness and injury, I suppose. Really a very fluffy chapter! Please drop a comment if you enjoy it/read it/etc, it really does help!

Erik wakes up with Charles curled  around him for the first time in weeks. He holds back onto him just as tightly, watching him sleep, hoping he’ll stay that way. Peaceful. Calm. Not that awful devastation from yesterday. God, he can’t see Charles like that again. Ever. He’ll do anything.  
  
“I’m never going to leave you, you silly man,” he tells his sleeping husband. Just incase.

When Charles wakes up, he smiles to see Erik there. As if yesterday was a bad dream, and he’s seeing that it’s not real. “Mm, good morning,” he mumbles, kissing Erik’s chest. Erik tries not to let his breath catch. It’s been such a long time since Charles offered him any affection. He’s quiet for awhile, so much that Erik thinks he’s fallen asleep, but then he says, “Let’s have a better day today, please.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I think I’d like to go somewhere.” Charles hasn’t gone anywhere since the accident except doctors and therapy. Erik is sure he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Like where?” he asks, tentatively.

“I don’t know. Maybe out to lunch. Like a date.”   
  
“A… date.” Erik curses himself for sounding like he might cry.

“Well, we are married. We’ve got no kids, and we’re not working. Might as well have some us time.” He sounds like everything is normal. Like this is only rational. “Right?”  
  
“Right,” Erik says, trying to get up but then realizing Charles is still holding onto him. He wants to go _now_ , before Charles changes his mind. When did leaving the house become so exciting? “Come on, let’s get ready.”

*

Charles ropes him into taking a bath together, of course. It’s not hard to do, really; Erik would agree to anything as long as Charles isn’t lying in bed with that blank look.

“I’m going to look into some renovations,” Erik says as he’s washing Charles’ hair, trying to keep the words innocuous, “For the house, you know. For you. So that everything’s… easier.” Charles tenses, but doesn’t reply. It’s better than arguing. “What are you thinking for lunch?” he asks, to change the subject. And to check that Charles hasn’t changed his mind.

“Mm. Something brunch-y.” Charles turns around to smear some bubbles onto Erik’s chin, giggling to himself. “You should grow your beard back in.”  
  
“You get scratches from the stubble, and you whine about it _endlessly._ ” Erik rolls his eyes, grinning despite himself, “Why, do I look good like this?”

“You do. And… If you want it, I won’t complain. It isn’t my choice, not really.”

“Well, it’s _my_ choice to avoid your bitching.” Erik is still grinning, glad for the easiness of the moment, teasing each other.

“Just. You do too much for me. You should do what you like.” It strikes Erik, then, how sad he sounds.

“Oh, stop. I like doing things for you. Please stop the self pity thing.” It’s blunt, but they are, with each other, or they were, before they started walking on eggshells. “I want to take care of you. I want to be here for you.”

“You probably want to go back to work,” Charles tries.

“Sure, I like my job. But it’ll be waiting when you’re better. I’d never choose it over you.” He hugs Charles around his waist, kissing his cheek, even though it’s a little soapy. “No more wallowing. It’s our better day, remember?” Charles brightens a little, leaning back into Erik, and lets some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“Alright. If you insist.”

*

Charles is spectacularly more like his old self, which means he takes an hour to decide what to wear. Better than being depressed. Erik lets it slide.

It’s funny that for all his fussing, as always, he chooses the same thing as always; one of the many sweaters Erik’s gotten him for Christmas and a button down. Erik bites down the comment about him being an old man, for the sake of the occasion.

*

They choose a café just around the corner from their house, close enough to home that they can easily leave if Charles has second thoughts.

“Erik! Charles!” The owner, Jean, is delighted to see them. They’ve known her since they moved into their house, stopping by bi-weekly, trying to keep to their commitment of having breakfast together every day despite sometimes being too tired (hungover, sore from the night’s… activities, whatever excuse) to cook. “Oh, it’s been ages.” She pointedly does not look at the wheelchair, or say anything. Charles thinks he might prefer if she did, but then again, the politeness is better than unthinking questions or overplayed concern. “Here, I’ll set you up at your usual table. How are you two?”  
  
“Oh, just peachy.” Charles doesn’t realize it sounds rude until he’s said it, and quickly tries to cover it up. He really has been irritable lately. “How are you, love? How’s business?”

“It’s… You know, as good as it can be. New french toast is getting rave reviews.” She shrugs, still smiling, though it seems a little fake now.

“Could we get two coffees? Early morning,” Erik says, always knowing the moment that Charles needs an escape. Add that to list of reasons Charles married him. Jean nods quickly, probably grateful for the excuse, disappearing. Erik reaches across the table to take Charles’ hand, squeezing. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes. Yeah. I’m just… Not used to people, yet. I didn’t mean to be sour.”  
  
“It’s fine. She knows.” Erik kisses his knuckles before letting his hand go. “Order anything you like, yeah?”

“You know better than to say that to me.” Charles is smiling, though, as he says it. “New french toast, did she say?”

*

The universe seems to be giving them a little reprieve. Charles gets tired toward the end of the meal, and Erik takes him home before he has to say anything, but he still wants to go out in the yard with the dog when they get home, instead of going back to bed.

For the next few days, he’s good. The best he’s been. Enough that when his doctor says he’s healed enough to start physical therapy, he agrees to start the next week. Erik drops him off and goes to grab a coffee around the corner, and about an hour later, Charles calls him, voice weary. “‘m done now. Will you please take me home?”

Once Erik has him situated in the car, he notices there are tears in his eyes.

“What’s wrong, love? Did it not go well?”

“Went fine.” Charles leans his head back in the seat, closing his eyes. “I just. I can’t do anything on my own, Erik. I was an absolute failure.”

“It’s your first day.”

“Can’t do anything at home, either.”

“You just have to get your upper body strength up, like the doctor says.” Charles doesn’t reply, but Erik knows what his train of thought must be. Vicious insults at himself, about how he’s a burden, can’t manage for himself, how he’s forcing Erik to care for him. “Come on. Please don’t cry. Are you in pain?” Erik takes one hand off the wheel to offer it to Charles, who grips it tightly.

“A bit. Just want to go home.”  
  
“Well, we’re almost there. I’ll get you your pain meds, mm? And we’ll watch something funny. It’ll be alright.” He tries not to worry that this will spark another crash, that tomorrow he won’t be able to get Charles out of bed. Tries not to let his voice sound frantic, like he’s trying to catch Charles before he falls.

The crash doesn’t come. What does, instead, is Charles’ conviction to do things on his own, which Erik allows under a watchful eye. He’s mastered getting in and out of the chair and stressing himself. The bathroom will definitely need to be renovated, but they work around it.

It’s a shred of hope. They can find a new normal amongst the wreckage. They will.

*

Charles wakes up one day and declares, “I want to start grading papers. And I’m going to open my email up to questions. Try to do what I can for poor Alex.”   
“Are you… sure about that?” Erik tries to hush the swell of pride in his chest. He’s been disturbingly sentimental lately, feeling moved to tears at Charles’ every milestone.

“Yes. Don’t look at me like that, don’t get all weepy. Now, where’s my cell phone?”

“You lose everything, honestly,” Erik chides, lifting up the pillows on the couch to try to find it.

“Well, I haven’t lost you.” Charles isn’t even looking at him, is mostly teasing, knowingly being cheesy, but Erik’s heart swells anyway.

“Couldn’t if you tried,” he replies, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he pulls the cell phone out, handing it to Charles.

And he believes, in this tiny, random moment, what he’s been saying.

It’ll be alright.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is not okay, but he's coping with that better; things aren't ready to be great yet, but there's still hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for nightmares, medication warnings, and maybe some sensitive talk about religion. Erik is angry at God, mostly. Please comment/leave kudos, it is sososo appreciated!

“Tell me what I’m thinking,” Charles murmurs, pressing his face into Erik’s shoulder. Erik winds an arm around him, kissing his temple. It’s a game they like to play, since they were teenagers, stemming from Charles’ uncanny ability to know what’s on Erik’s mind. It doesn’t always work in the reverse, but after so much time together, Erik’s gaining some ground.

“Hmm.” He pretends to mull it over, though it’s obvious and too easy. It’s before nine a.m. “You’re sleepy, you wish I didn’t snore so much, you like it, though, because it’s familiar… You’re a bit grouchy and wondering if you can convince me to give you another hour. You also want tea.”   
  
“Mmm, spot on. Also, I’m cold, don’t get up yet please.” To emphasize his point, he clings onto Erik with what strength he can muster through his drowsiness.

“Alright.” Erik chuckles, carding a hand idly through Charles’ hair, shutting his eyes. Maybe he ought to go back to sleep, himself. “To answer, I’ll get you tea when I get up, sorry about the snoring, and an hour sounds reasonable. How about me? What am I thinking?”

“That I’m very cold, and you’re going to be my heated blanket, because you love me.” 

“Didn’t ask what you  _ want  _ me to think. But alright.” Charles presses closer against him. He does feel awfully cold. “Come on, then, back to sleep.” 

 

Erik’s in the middle of a particularly nice dream about his wedding with Charles, except for some reason it’s on a cloud, and his mother is there. Charles in is his wheelchair, which he of course wasn’t at their real wedding, and they’re bickering with Raven about his rights to see Charles before the wedding. That part really happened - he’d known that Charles would panic without him, which he did, anyway,  _ with  _ him, but at least they’d been able to get him calm before the ceremony. 

He’s about to kiss Charles, and for some reason he’s not even surprised when Charles stands from his wheelchair to meet him. Dream logic, of course. 

Much to his disatisfaction, he’s woken up before their lips touch.   
Charles is screaming.  
  


It takes Erik a moment to shake out of his sleepy confusion, at first panicking that they’re being robbed and Charles is shot and dying, or something equally awful. They’re both still in bed. This isn’t the first time this has happened.

Charles is writhing, body covered in a cold sheen of sweat, his skin fever-hot. “Please, please don’t, please-” he’s shouting, breath coming in quick, short bursts. Erik sits up, gripping Charles by the shoulders and shaking him. 

“Charles, love, you’re dreaming. Wake up.” Charles grabs his hands, trying to claw them off.

“Let go of me, let go of me, you’ve done enough-” He’s starting to cry now.

“It’s Erik, liebling, please.” He always slips into german when Charles has nightmares, the way his mother did when he was small. “Wake up, come on now.” To his relief, Charles’ eyes blink open, wide and unseeing. “Look at me, mm? It’s me. It’s Erik.”  
  
“Erik.” It comes out as a whimper.  
  
“Yeah, yes, hi, I’m here, come here…” Erik wraps his arms around Charles tightly, letting him cling back. “There, just breathe. It’s over now.”

“Over now,” Charles whispers, voice shaking.   
  
“That’s right. That’s just right.” Erik sighs, holding him close, kissing behind his ear. “We’re at home. No one who could hurt you is here.”   
  
Sometimes, it is so, so hard to rein in his anger that anyone ever made Charles this scared.

“Home. Home with you.” Charles hiccups, tears staining Erik’s t-shirt. “I. I dreamt that. That Kurt did. This.”   
  
“Did…?”  
“My. My back.” He’s starting to cry harder again. “So. Part. Part of it was real, because ‘m still…”

“It was an accident,” Erik says, though he’s sure it offers no comfort. “Kurt’s been gone for a long time. You’re never going to see him again.” The bastard had disappeared once he’d divorced Sharon, left with his bit of the Xavier wealth and bailed before her liver could start failing from all the drinking. Clever and despicable, a winning combination. If he’s alive, he’s far away, and Erik will kill him himself before letting him near Charles.

“He’d laugh at me.” Charles’ voice is cracking. “At how helpless I am. He, he did. In the dream.”

“He’s gone, Charles. It doesn’t matter what he’d think. I’m here, mm? And I think you’re brave, and doing as best as you can.” Charles stays silent, clinging onto him with shaking arms. “Breathe, kay? Don’t want you to panic.” Obediently, Charles takes a few deep breaths, which works to calm some of the shaking.

“‘m just as useless as he always said I was.” 

“Stop, don’t say that.” Erik’s heart _twists._ “Something awful happened to you, okay? And it’s injured you, and you’re struggling to recover, but you’re not useless. You’re an amazing professor, you’re brilliant and successful, and Kurt deserves no fucking place in your thoughts, or your life.” He knows he must be shouting, but God, _fuck_ that monster, for what he did. Fuck the drunkard who did this to Charles. Fuck whatever God let Charles have more cause to have nightmares.  
His mother taught him about a God who was good and just, who loved his people. Charles might not be Jewish, but it all sounds like a fucking lie now.   
  
There’s a tiny body clinging to him, trembling harder. Oh, fuck.

“Love. Darling. Hey. I know I was getting loud, there, but I’m not going to hurt you. ‘m not angry with you, I’m sorry. Please tell me I didn’t scare you.”  
  
“No. No. I just…” Charles is choking up again. “I love you. Thank you.” 

“Of course. You’re. You’re perfect, okay? Like this. Like anything.” Charles doesn’t argue, just holds on and breathes. 

He’s not ready to let go for a long while, and his eyes still look haunted when he does. He takes an extra xanax along with his meds, and tries to smile for Erik’s sake, but they both know the day’s already been lost. Charles doesn’t want to get up, and Erik doesn’t have the heart to make him.   
  
Not every day can be good, he tells himself. Maybe they can brighten it by evening anyway. 

*

Erik brings Charles a cup of earl grey, which he takes gratefully, trying for a tired smile as he sips it. 

“You should go back to work,” he says quietly, meeting Erik’s eyes. 

“I… What?”  
  
“You heard what I said. Maybe part time? I want to go back soon, but I’m not ready. You should.” 

“Let’s. Not talk about this now.” He sits, taking Charles’ hand between his, turning his wedding ring over to busy himself. “You’ve had a hard morning. It’s… I don’t want to think about leaving you.”   
  
“I’m okay, aren’t I? I sat up all on my own.” Charles tries to smile again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I. I’m just having part time, okay? I’m trying to admit that I need help. But maybe Raven can be here somedays? And if it’s only for a little while, I can manage. The bathroom’s getting done this week, isn’t it?” 

“‘s true,” Erik considers. He hadn’t planned to go back to work for a while, if at all. He loves his job, he truly does, but Charles comes first, and the law firm can’t wait for him forever. He could sell his share, and be comfortable for a long time - he could be comfortable with no job, honestly, thanks to Charles’ inheritance.   
  
He’s lucky that he didn’t have any cases going on before the crash, and as long as he passes any new ones off onto Armando or Sean, he’s been able to miss all this time. But they’re getting a little annoyed with him, he knows. He’d rather lose his job than rush Charles’ recovery. 

“So… Maybe you could do a few hours a day. Or just a few days a week, something like that. Could you work it out that way?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Erik admits, “If I have a trial, you know I won’t be very flexible. But… Well, I could do some paperwork and see some clients. Dot some i’s.” He smiles a little, thinking of how nice it would be to feel productive again, like he’s providing for their family. 

“That sounds good.” Charles leans into Erik’s side as he sits down, closing his eyes. “I think I’d feel better if I didn’t have you trapped here.”  
  
“You don’t. But alright, we’ll… We’ll discuss some sort of schedule. I want to be here to go therapy with you, and physical therapy.”   
“  
That’s a fair compromise.” Charles yawns. “Miss my job.” 

“You could draw up some power points for Alex or something, maybe. And you still have papers to grade.” 

“That’s so  _ boring.  _ I want to see my students.” 

“Could you teach over facetime?”  
  
“I don’t know how to use that stupid thing. Definitely not. I’m just going to have to get better, I suppose.” He doesn’t sound sad when he says it, just wistful.

“And you will. You are. Everything’s going to get better,” Erik says quietly, hoping he puts all the meaning behind it that he wants to. __  
  
__Make it true, okay? he asks God, trying to remember any hebrew prayer he knows. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Lots of hope, some small moments, some setbacks, some milestones, and love. Lots of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who stuck with this fic from the beginning! I really hope the ending is satisfactory. It's nothing dramatic, but that's the whole point, I think. They're just humans, going through human things. And I think that's why their relationship really shines through, so I hope you like it!! We might see an epilogue at some point, but don't hold your breath!   
> TW for mentions of pills and alcohol, that should be all. A little intimacy but nothing explicit at all.  
> Please comment and let me know what you think! I love all of you, and sorry about the run on sentences ;-)

Erik does go back to work, in small intervals. It’s impressively refreshing, to do something productive, to see the results of hours spent as his desk, to talk to his clients and feel like he’s not trapped inside his home. He looks forward to seeing Charles, which is a pleasant change from the sense of dread that had settled over him. It’s not because he doesn’t love his husband; he just doesn’t know what to expect, and the possibly that Charles wakes up unwilling to get out of bed each morning is very real and completely heart wrenching. Now, regardless of his mood, Erik misses him by the end of the day, wants to kiss him and make him dinner and ask him a million questions about the essays he’s grading, just to hear him talk. And if Charles isn’t well, he still looks forward to holding him close and telling him it will be alright. 

Charles, all things considered, is doing his best. The first week Erik goes to work he’s spectacular, better than anyone expected, really. Raven stops by a few times a day, and Moira has lunch with him on her break, the first day. He sees Emma, doing his therapy via facetime since Erik can’t be there to drive him. The bathroom’s been redone on the ground floor and he’s navigating on his own. He even takes the dog out on his own. He doesn’t even seem  _ sad  _ when Erik leaves him in the morning, waiting patiently and never calling, even though Erik’s took him a million times to call if he needs anything.   
  


Then, there’s a crash and a couple of bad days. He shouts at Raven to leave him alone when she comes by, and then Erik notices his painkiller prescription has run out much too quickly and they get into a huge screaming match, Charles insisting he only takes them as needed, and Erik imploring that maybe if he  _ needs  _ them so often that’s a bad sign. Accusing your husband of abusing drugs is not, in fact, a good idea, and Erik sleeps on the couch.

The next day, he goes to work angry, and Charles is afraid he won’t come back and too stubborn to call, so when Erik gets home he’s on the couch, drunk out of his mind, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels that Erik can’t remember them having in the house and babbling that he can’t get up and he’s scared and  _ pleasedon’tgo.  _

It seems to spark something in Charles, the idea that alcohol is a Thing, and Erik finds him at least buzzed for the next few days. He drags him into Emma, phoning her before to tell her what’s going on and practically begging her to ask about the pills, too. She can’t tell him, he knows, patient confidentiality, but she can at least  _ talk  _ to Charles. Therapy doesn’t always help, but someone has to reason with him.

Charles go home tired and snappish. Erik offers a nap and he pretends to sleep so they won’t have to talk. 

After a while, Charles rolls over, taking Erik’s hand and squeezing. “I’m sorry. You’re right, about. The pills. But it’s not…” He sighs. “I’ve just. It’s been hurting a lot. I wasn’t trying to… be unhealthy. I just don’t want to worry you. And I’ve just been drinking because I’ve nothing better to do all day.” The last part is possibly a lie, but Erik lets it slide, nodding in understanding.

“You’ve probably been exerting yourself a bit much,” he offers, rubbing soothing circles over the back of Charles’ knuckles. “I’ll cut down my hours a little, the next few days, yeah? And we’re gonna get rid of the alcohol, at least for now.” Charles starts to protest but lets it fall. They’re both thinking the same thing, about how alcoholism is most likely in Charles’ blood, and Charles doesn’t want to be his mother any more than Erik wants to be married to her.

After that, Charles is neither doing amazing or terrible, just  _ doing,  _ and that turns out to be best. It feels  _ normal,  _ like he can do all his usual tasks without considering them huge accomplishments, and he can deal with his grief and pain without breaking. He starts teaching himself to use the car that Erik got him, with a manual at first, and then taking it for a spin with Raven.

It’s a delightful kind of freedom, exactly what Erik meant to offer him. _ He _ could go see  _ Raven _ if he wanted, instead of the other way around. He could go to work, if he felt ready to deal with students and grading and people for hours a day, and if he was doing a tad better at physical therapy. But that will come  _ soon,  _ and he can be  _ useful  _ again, and. It’s a new kind of hope, the attainable kind, just out of his reach.

He hides it from Erik until he’s mastered the art, surprising him with a quirked eyebrow. “How about I drive us somewhere to eat?” he asks, and Erik looks confused for a moment.

“Oh, you want to learn? I was waiting for you to come around.”  
  
“I already know,” Charles says dismissively, waving his hand, “Been learning with Raven. Come on, let me show you.”  
  
It feels like a bit of a silly surprise, because while the whole concept is so exciting to Charles, it must seem like kind of a mundane thing to Erik. But once they’re in the car, he notices Erik tearing up.

“Quite alright, love?” Charles hadn’t meant to make him  _ cry.  _

“I just. I’m happy. That you’re accepting this. I thought. I don’t know. You’re doing so much better. And I like that you’re... Using a gift I gave you.” Erik wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t know,” he repeats, “Marrying you’s made me a very emotional person.”   
  
“Well,” Charles says, trying not to get choked up himself, “Don’t count all your eggs yet, or your chickens, or. Whatever. I’m still the same shitty driver I was before.” Erik just smiles at him softly and closes his eyes, turning up the radio. It’s a good moment. It’s a good night.

The car  _ should  _ scare Charles, considering the nature of his injury. He knows that. It should scare Erik, too; he wonders if it does, if Erik would tell him if that were the case. Instead, it feels strangely calming, like he’s in control again.   
  


Five months to the date of his injury, Charles sits in front of his class for the first time. It’s a new semester, new students, regrettably. He’d liked his old ones, feels awful for not being able to give them a proper class; it only drives him twice as hard to be a better professor. He’s only taken on two classes for the semester, to make sure he didn’t overexert himself, but it’s more than enough to take off the stir-crazy edge.

Erik watches him pour over his work each night like he’s expecting him to break, but eventually he lets it go. Because Charles doesn’t break. He won’t break.

 

They decide to have a party to celebrate New Years, in an attempt to be normal people again. 

Somehow, Charles ends up in Erik’s lap, his wheelchair somewhere across the room, hands wandering and sloppy kisses all over Erik’s neck. 

They’re both considerably drunk; they’re not usually so overt about PDA. Logan is making snide remarks, but Erik just throws up the finger and goes back to kissing his husband.

Charles pulls back after a long moment, panting, and grips Erik by the chin decisively. “I. I want,” he says, trying to sound very serious, “We haven’t. Tried yet. I want to.” He glances around them. “Get rid of these people, would you?”   
  
Just drunk enough to not care about being rude, Erik _does,_ waving everyone out on the grounds that “I have to _celebrate_ with Charles, you know-”, raising his eyebrows erratically for emphasis. In the morning, he’ll be mortified, and Charles laughs hysterically, knowing it. 

They tumble into bed, Erik carrying Charles to the bedroom like he had on their wedding night. It had been so fucking cheesy, then, and clichéd, but Charles had shrieked and kissed his neck and revelled in it. He does the same now.

They undress each other with the same kind of wonder they did when they were in high school, when they’d been awkward and fumbling and nervous. Now, it’s slow and appreciative, pausing every now and then for affectionate kisses. 

Erik insists on kissing every inch of the incision in Charles’ back, musing drunkenly about how Charles is going to set off metal detectors in the airport now. “Beautiful,” he whispers, cutting off his own rambling, “Absolutely beautiful.” Charles shivers.

“Enough with the teasing, then, come on,” he says, trying not to show that he’s blushing, trying to sound gruff, but Erik sees through it and just keeps kissing him.

“Mm, let me take my time. I’ve _missed_ you.”  
  
Charles is quiet and too serious for a moment when he says, “I missed you too,” but then he turns and kisses Erik ferociously, and they forget about anything that ever came between them.

 

“I love you,” Erik says, after, Charles curled up against his side.

“To the moon and back,” Charles finishes, kissing the corner of Erik’s mouth before tucking his chin against his shoulder. “You’re everything to me. I hope you know that.”

“And you to me.” It comes out so easily. 

“Never leave,” Charles says sternly. Erik tries not to think about why he might say that, or analyze his tone too much. Just pulls him a little closer.

“Never,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the top of Charles’ head. And he means it. He knows he means it. “Love you far too much.”  
  
“You’re stuck with me, and that’s final.” But Charles is only joking; he believes Erik. Erik can tell.

The sun is starting to sneak in the window, so they curl in towards each other and try to sleep. 

Charles falls asleep first, breath calm and even. 

Erik doesn’t worry that there will be nightmares tonight. He knows there won’t be.


End file.
